Fatal Attraction
by The Loneliest Bird
Summary: A woman, stuck in her mid-life crisis, found herself infatuated with her daughter's classmate. She could risk loosing her marriage and her job, but she was helpless under this sweet yet fatal spell. A dark story with cheating theme as well as explores female sexual desire and sexuality.


Hi, this is your heroine speaking. I'll be gladly narrating you throughout the story of my life. I apologize if it can be boring at first, but we're getting there eventually, the point where my life has changed completely. Okay, where's my manners? My name is Fate Testarossa. I teach psychology in a pretty popular university. I have a house in the suburban of Boston; my neighbors are interesting in their own way, by the way, and by 'interesting', it doesn't have to always be positive. Anyway, back to me again; I have a wife and a teenage daughter. Trust me, you don't want to mess with either both of them. A woman in her forties, the state where one is in her mid-life crisis, and a seventeen year-old who loves punk rock and all that crap are not sensible creatures. I don't drink and have never smoked, but I do use drugs. It's nothing big deal though. It's something that helps you sleep at night when there's just too much in your head. Yeah, I mean it. My head threatens to explode every single day, and I need those medicines to keep it intact. How can one stay sane after a day of dealing with idiots and come home to a rebellious daughter and a bipolar wife? So, I will repeat myself: I need those tablets to survive.

I guess you can figure out patches of the big picture by now, right? My life sucks. Surely, I have money, lots of it. I mean you don't get a doctorate for nothing. I didn't spend years of suffer and sacrifices just to come empty-handed. I can have mostly everything an average person wishes for: big house, fancy car, 70 inches plasma TV, beautiful wife, smart kids, etc. I am a professor and people respect me; my students admire me. However, that is just the floating surface of the iceberg. My daughter hates me. In fact, she hates everyone except for her punk group full of insolent children. My wife stops paying attention to me. I can't even remember the last time we had sex. I have to resort to masturbation to some cheap porn on the Internet. I know it sounds pathetic, does it not? I couldn't remember what we found in each other many years ago that resulted in us joining hands in marriage. Please don't get me wrong, I still love my wife. I would never cheat on her, and I would give her everything she wants. The only problem is I don't know what she wants from me anymore. She certainly doesn't need money; she makes her own money pretty well. She has her respect from her peers as well, being a successful business woman. But we don't talk anymore. We come home, ask about each other's day as a greeting, eat dinner at the same table, then go about our business until late at night. We still sleep in the same bed, but we don't touch, and we have stopped kissing ages ago. She was a beautiful woman. I used to feel proud and blessed that I married such a wonderful person. Now, I don't desire her anymore, and neither does she.

I sometimes wonder why has it come this way. What drives us apart? What is it that turns our supposed to be perfect life into miserable? I feel deeply ashamed. Being a psychologist, my job is to read people, to understand their problems, but look at me, I can't make my wife and kid happy anymore. I can't figure out what's inside my daughter's head that makes her hostile toward me; I can't satisfy my woman or be there for her when she needed me. I am a failure to my own profession.

And then it came, the most radiant and beautiful creature I've ever seen. It hit me hard, everywhere, and I was as weak as I had always been, I fell for it. This is where it all begins, my friends. The story starts now.

0ooo0

I woke up, feeling tired as always. I glanced over at the sleeping woman next to me just to see she wasn't there. She must have gotten up not too long before me because I could hear the water running in the shower. She loved to take a shower in the early mornings. I remembered she said it was refreshing and she could actually do well at her job. I sat up, and for a split second there, I contemplated joining her but quickly shrugged the thought off. It felt as ridiculous as eating ice-cream for breakfast! I got out of bed and made my way to the bathroom, ready to freshen up for the long day ahead. I looked at my reflection in the mirror and wondered for a few seconds who was this miserable looking woman. She had long, tangled blonde hair; under her dull red eyes are dark circles; creases crept up instantly when she frowned. She was the ugliest woman I had ever seen.

When I got in the kitchen, my wife was sipping at her coffee at the table, a bowl of cereal next to her. She seemed to be caught up in reading the morning newspaper that she didn't notice I walk in. And even when I sat down at the table across from her, she didn't even lift her eyes from the paper. This was the norm in this house though. No one talked to the other except if there was something really important. I can't really define 'important' here, to be honest. I think it's considered important when a relative dies or gets in an accident.

I poured myself a bowl of cereal and started eating. We stopped making breakfast long ago. We were always in a rush in the morning, and also our daughter had stopped eating home-made breakfast ever since she got in high school. The flutter sound my wife made when she turned the paper broke me out of my thoughts. I looked up at her as she was obliviously moving her eyes back and forth, reading an article. She was still beautiful, but life had gotten to her. There were creases on either side of her eyes and in between her eyebrows; her complexion wasn't as smooth as it used to be, and her once full lips had somehow gotten thinner. Back in the day, she would instantly notice my staring and would blush cutely, pouting her little mouth at me. She was so adorable when we first wedded. I returned to my cereal and took a spoon-full into my mouth. I needed to be at the university at 8:30. There was no time to daydream about the past. Those who lived and wouldn't let go of their glorious past were just losers anyway.

Footsteps from the stairs indicated my daughter's arrival. Like usual, she wore ugly, tattered clothes she called 'trending'. Her hair resembled that of a crow's nest; she had piercings on her nose and ears, and I cringed when I looked at her once innocent face. She looked like a sleazy slut with all that make-up. I once had tried to condemn her for her inappropriate style, and what I got was she being a sassy little brat. I had crowded her for a week for the way she talked back at her parent, and now she hated me.

"I have a friend over today," she said, taking an apple, "I know you guys hate me, but please, if you still have any respect for me, don't act weird," She continued, chewing on the apple nonchalantly.

"I'm not going to be home until pretty late at night. I have a meeting." My wife said, eyes still glued to the paper.

"Dad," she looked at me dreadfully, like she was about to try something unpleasant, "Please, please behave yourself, okay? This girl, she's like the most popular girl in school. I need her to like me!"

Really? What happened to kids nowadays? Shouldn't they be worried about their grades, tests, and exams instead of these nonsense? Popularity, what do you need it for? Can you make money with being popular in school? No! The only thing that earns you money is your college degree. Can you have respect? No! Nobody is going to respect you for dressing like a whore and talking like an uneducated prick!

"Fine," I sighed in defeat.

"I need to go now," she stood up and walked to the front door without saying goodbye or wishing her parents a good day. She swung her stupid-looking backpack over her shoulders, pulling on her cheap-looking boots and walked out, slamming the door closed with unnecessary force.

I returned to my breakfast, contemplating on my plans for the day. I have four classes to teach, and one of them has a test today. Then, I have a meeting about administration nonsense; they do this every three months. I thought about how I had turned down a student's offer to buy me lunch the other day. A sweet and pretty young woman, she had heads turned whenever she walked by. She had been very attentive to my lectures lately, raising her hand every time I asked a question. I can say I know her intension. She came to class every morning, taking the front-row seat, the one that closest to my desk, as usual, shrugging off her jacket to show her ample breasts hidden behind a tight shirt with the first two buttons unhooked. I must admit the kid was really attractive; she knew how to maintain eye contact, how to bite her lip bashfully when failing a question deliberately. However, I had passed that phase long ago. These students, they totally promise a good fuck, but they don't worth it. They after just one thing: an A plus to their final grades. I could lose my job to these kind of temptation, my marriage too, and I don't intend to do so.

"I'm leaving," my wife called out, folding the newspaper. She stood up and put the empty bowl in the sink.

"Don't worry about it," I said, indicating the dirty dishes, "Have a good day."

"Thanks, you too."

Then, taking her coat, she walked out of the kitchen. I heard the door opened and then closed, followed not long later was her car's engine. That left just me and the house. I licked my spoon clean after finishing the cereal. I put it in the sink and started washing the dishes. From the kitchen window, I could see Mr. Scrya, my neighbor, yelling at his wife yet again. An ex-military who owned a gold medal for serving the country and a collection of guns, Mr. Scrya was a typical straight white male who hated the homosexuals and believed he's entitle to everything. As a matter of fact, he hated me and my family. We were the thorn in his eyes, a disgrace to the society, and the reason humanity would go extinct, etc. I don't mind the man to be honest. He was an old man whose life achievement was a badge of honor and an only son who only liked men. Yeah, you read that right. His son, the sweet little boy, was gay, and Mr. Scrya didn't know about this. Poor little kid had to endure his father's masculinity shit every day. I wonder what would happen if he was to know the truth. Despite his father's attitude towards people, the boy was a nice young man. He had good grades, was very polite and modest, and had a passion for photography. He used to hang out with our family back in the years until his father decided the homosexuals could ruin his little boy, that they could rotten him and turn him into one of them. So, he wasn't allowed to come over for suppers any more, but that did not mean we would stop talking. I was the one he confided in about his sexuality; he still asks for my advice occasionally. I sometimes wished he was my son instead of the spoiled little brat I'm currently stuck with.

I put on my jacket and grabbed my briefcase. Sitting in my car, I made a mental note to buy pasta and cheese after work since my daughter was going to have a friend over, and I couldn't let our guest eat left-over lasagna, could I? Spaghetti sounded good to me, and it wasn't so hard to make. I glanced at my watch and sighed. Another long day awaited me.

0ooo0

I opened the door and quickly stepped inside. It was mid-November, and the winds were so harsh they could practically freeze people. Winter in Boston is always harsh, with winds that feel like giant knives cutting through your flesh and snow so thick you could fell off from the first floor and still be okay. I took off my leather jacket and hung it in the closet near the door. I glanced at my watch again, and it was only 4:30. There was plenty of time to prepare dinner. I had contemplated ordering something from the restaurant we often went to, but decided against it. Maybe this could be the chance for me to fix my relationship with my daughter. I had to prove to her that I can be a great dad. Yeah, after tonight, she'd turn back to the little girl she used to be, sweet and innocent. I smirked and rolled my sleeves up as I walked to the kitchen. I had always been a great chef; my wife was too prideful to admit that she had lost to me in this very particular field.

I ended up cooking the turkey we had saved for thanksgiving in the last minute. I couldn't help it. It felt so refreshing to just cook again. I had forgotten how enjoyable it'd be to simply prepare a meal. My grandmother always said there was a chef in me, and she wasn't wrong. when I was younger, I had a passion for food. I had longed to go visit my grandparents every summer and spend time with my grandmother in the kitchen. I could still remember the very first pie I baked with her. It was not the most beautiful pie in the world, but it was definitely the best pie I had ever tasted. I smiled at the memory and felt a bit sad that I could no longer spend time with her. She was the most wonderful person. I missed her dearly.

I heard the door open and then close while I was setting the table. It must be my daughter and her friend. I looked down at myself and frowned. I was still clad in my work outfit. It shouldn't be a problem because it was a white shirt and black pants, but the smell of the kitchen might give me away. I cursed silently. Why did I have to be this careless?

"Dad?" Vivio called from the door way. "Are you home?"

"Yeah, in the kitchen."

I heard footsteps followed right after, and then my daughter appeared at the threshole. I must have looked very stunned because Vivio immediately pouted and blushed. Gone was her hideous make-up; her hair was back in its natural form and color; she wasn't wearing the tattered trash bags she called trending; instead, she was wearing cheerleader outfit. She looked so different from the Vivio I had talked to this morning, and I was not complaining.

"Dad, stop staring. You're embarrassing me," Vivio clicked her tongue and walked to the fridge where she took out the orange juice bottle.

"Well, sorry missy, but you look so different I can't hardly recognize," I laughed. "Where's your friend?"

"In the living room," she said as she poured the juice into a glass. "I was afraid you were doing something embarrassing in here, so I let her stay outside."

"I wasn't doing anything embarrassing!"

"It's never too late to be prepared."

"Alright. Why don't you help set up the table while I go get changed?" I said, taking off the apron.

"Wait, you made all of these?" Vivio's mouth was hanging open, just like her eyes. I couldn't help but laughed out loud at her surprised face.

"Yep."

"Amazing…"

I walked upstairs, feeling ridiculously proud. It's understandable that she was stunned. She was so little when I found the pleasure in cooking, and when she was older, I couldn't find the time nor the desire to cook anymore. Thinking about this sad fact, I scolded myself for being so neglected to my family. I made a self-note that from now on I would try as best as I could to cook for my family.

I quickly opened the closet and pulled out a freshly washed black silk shirt. I liked this one. It felt soft on my skin and helped accentuate the color of my eyes. My wife gave me this shirt for Christmas a few years ago, if I remember correctly. I fastened the golden cufflinks before pulling on the gray linen dress pants. I remembered buying this one years ago, and I was a bit surprised that it still fit. I don't know if I should be happy that I didn't gain weight for the past few years.

Checking myself in the mirror one last time, I decided I looked not bad at all. My goal tonight was to make Vivio's friend like me. I hadn't met her yet, but I believed it was her that had rid that ugly Gothic style off of my daughter. To make Vivio change her stubborn perspective, this girl must be something.

I made my way to the living room where I heard giggles coming from. And the moment I stepped inside, the air had suddenly abandoned my lungs. Everything was slow-motion. She stopped talking, slowly turning her head my way; eyelashes fluttering in the process. She stood up, walked to me, reached out her hand, and with the sweetest smile she opened her lips.

"Hello, Mrs. Testarossa. My name is Nanoha, Nanoha Takamachi. It's an honor to meet you."

There, in the living room, right at that moment, I knew I was damned.


End file.
